Ashes and Bones by Dana Cameron

“Oh.”
    “So what’s up first today?” I went over to the coffeepot. It was empty, but still turned on; my headache redoubled at the sight. I flicked off the switch.
    “I thought I’d just get an idea of what the job was going to be.” He settled back against the countertop, and slurped some more coffee. “You’ve got to sort these things out carefully, don’t want to have to redo anything.”
    I reached into the manila folder on the table. “Here’s a list of what has to be done. Mr. Keyser said the work should only take about five, six days. Tops.”
    “I’m not going to be rushed, do a shoddy job. You wouldn’t want that.”
    I want my coffee, you oaf, is what I want. “I don’t want a shoddy job. I do want it done quickly. Do you need me to call the alarm company, let them know the power will be out?” I had already charged up cell phones and computers, pared the food down in the fridge to those that wouldn’t spoil in a hurry, and taken all the other precautions. Several times, now.
    “I’ll let you know.” He finally set his cup down, rubbed his hands, and looked around. “All right then.”
    Nothing. He stood there, slurped thoughtfully.
    White stabbing pains behind my eyes made it difficult to be civil. “Yes?”
    He sighed. “I really like a cruller or something with my coffee in the morning, don’t you?”
    “I really like my coffee in the morning, but I’m not getting that,” I said. “You’ve drunk the last of it.” I knew for a fact that buying coffee beans was on my list of errands today; we’d gone through the crumbs and the emergency coffee—the assorted samples, gifts, etc., that accumulated at the back of the cupboard—at this point.
    “Did I? Oh. Your boyfriend there, he told me to help myself. Next time, you’ll have to get downstairs a little quicker, huh?”
    “Husband,” I said, through gritted teeth. Couldn’t figure out if “husband” was a clarification or malediction.
    “Oh.” He began to pore over the punch list, looking around as he did. “Box is downstairs?” he asked, without looking up.
    “Yep, I’ll show you,” I said, eager to do anything that would get him moving.
    “No, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll find it. You just go on about your business.”
    I bit back another retort, in the hopes that he was underway now.
    No such luck. “So, you gonna make me knock all the time?”
    “What do you mean?” All the time? Hell—that didn’t sound like five or six days to me.
    “I had to knock to get in today. Your boyfriend—”
    “Husband.”
    “—let me in. Usually, people give me a key or leave the door open.”
    “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” I said. “You’re going to have to knock. One of us will let you in, I promise.”
    He looked hurt and his mustache drooped. “You don’t trust me?”
    “I’m not in the habit of giving keys out to anyone.” Damn, I sounded stiff; I knew I was not scoring any points with this guy, and my tone was making it worse every second. But I was also beginning to suspect that there were no secret words to get him to work. “I’ll leave you to it. If you have any questions, just holler. I’ll be upstairs—no, cancel that. I’m going out. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
     
    My heart beat a little faster as I opened the door to Café-Nation; maybe it was just joyful anticipation of my morning fix, maybe it was just a contact high through the density of coffee molecules in the air.
    “’Lo, Emma,” the woman behind the counter in the blue apron greeted me. “Red Eye?”
    “Lord, yes, Tina. Feed me coffee, make me human.”
    “Well, I can do the one; the rest is up to you. You want it here?”
    “Yes—no, I guess I better get back to the house. To go, please. And a pound of beans, whole.”
    “Less than two minutes.”
    As she busied herself with the holy apparatus, I sat on a stool by the register, an earnest and grateful supplicant. I sighed, then rummaged through my wallet